You walked beside mesome forty years or more,my right-hand woman,leaving footprints on the pavements,in the sand, in my home. You saw my babies born,and die,
In a Chelsea restaurantthe young boy sits stiffly,school blazer straight-backed,hands flat on flannel grey,darting glances at his father,whose fingertip commandmesmerises waiters to his wide. Father
What a pretty pickle you’ve got us into, Dave,with all our politicians running in circles.Macmillan’s night of the long knives had nothing on this.They stabbed
When the music stops there is silence.The fandango of support ceases, the front door shuts,the car doors close, the assembled crowd of wellwishers leaves.You are
It’s 1973. Georgetown is blooming;flower power blossoming the streets,twisting pink stems around long corkscrew curls,tie-dye T-shirts, purple bellbottom trousers,pavements stoned with grateful Dead posters. In
You were 26 years old,witty, handsome.You worked for a fashion brandbehind the Royal Academy,relished a young man’s London life. After I heard the news I
In a Chelsea restaurantthe young boy sits stiffly,school blazer straight-backed,hands flat on flannel grey,darting glances at his father,whose fingertip commandmesmerises waiters to his side. Father
So. Farewell Dick. They’re queuing up 5000 of them or more To pass by your bones In Leicester Cathedral. Do they come for you Or
It’s lunchtime in Lambeth.The streets glisten with oil-streaked rain.I take refuge in a Church,pews dotted with damp heads;hear the vicar introduce a concert,feel myself relax